


In the early morning

by Sherlockinthetardis (junbaitarashian)



Category: Broadchurch
Genre: Drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-20
Updated: 2013-03-20
Packaged: 2017-12-05 21:38:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/728181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junbaitarashian/pseuds/Sherlockinthetardis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>DI Alec Hardy hates everything except... No, he hates everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the early morning

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this little thing because Broadchurch needs more fics here. Inspired by the 'I hate everything' speech in ep. 3. I started writing this with comedy in mind and god did it stray from that, sorry. Well, this came out. Hope you enjoy it all the same. excuse all the incorrect grammar, wrote it in like 15 minutes. Disclaimer : I only own this little nagging idea. BBC owns my soul.

DI Alec Hardy hates it all. He hates the people of Broadchurch and their bloody friendly faces. He hates the sea, the sand and the immensely blue sky- too bloody blue and too bloody big . He hates the mornings and hates the hotel coffee, too -watered down compared to his personal stack he used to have back in Wessex.

Wessex. He doesn't want to think about that blasted town or how it taught him the hard way that no one is to be trusted... 

His heart contracts and he reaches for the pendant that sits on the nightstand. He holds it for only a second, before the weight of it feels too heavy in his hand, and sets it back.

Now that he thought about it, he hated Wessex, too. Bloody journalist. Bloody twitter. Miller... Blasted!  
He releases a tired sigh and pushes away the bed sheets. He hates those too. Not soft. Not warm.  


Just a bit longer , he thinks.

The pieces of the case are coming together, somewhat, so many clues connecting but so many not. Skateboard, phone, Mark Latimer lying about his alibi- Why?- Boat - no that was the psychic . He hates him, bloody wanker. 

He tries to rub the tired off his face. It is too bloody early and the sun hasn't even come out, but he needs to meet Miller up at that hut

His thoughts raced to Mark Latimer again. Could he have done it? His fingerprints and his son's blood, Danny's, had been found up in that hut, and there was the footage from the CCTV - who had he met at that car-park? 

He takes a deep breath and exhales it slowly . If Latimer has anything to do with his sons murder they would soon find out. Latimer was due for an intimate interview.

Hardy scrunches his eyes for a moment . He needs to stop thinking for a moment- He need to begin his day before even thinking of how he could let down this family and fail a case again. He wont let happen. Much as he hates the whole ordeal.

He recited his schedule in his head; Miller, Latimer -  
Right: today he will meet his doctor. Bloody day.  
He knows what he will say and he hates each reminder of his sickness, but he will go meet him anyway . 

He rustles a hand through his bed head and let's out a grunt. It helps channel the stress out. He won't shower this morning; Hates the feeling of the water surrounding him too early in the morning. 

He does change his undershirt and throws on a different dress-shirt, too. He walks into the bathroom and leans over the sink. The water starts running. He feels the dizzy spell in seconds and it's well reminder that he must take his medication. He hates the taste of the pills... But he swallows them nonetheless. He has to. 

He looks at his reflection in the mirror and considers shaving for a moment. He won't, like he hasn't for the past couple of days -it's too much of a bother. He must hurry anyway, because Miller will be waiting, well, he doesn't really care. 

He hates her, too, like he hates this town and its stupid friendly people- and this stupid bloody case that will be the death of him.


End file.
